Harriet Fenchurch was a very bad child,
For she left the door open, when the wind it was wild.
She gave her granny a chill and her uncle a cold,
And her little brother the cough he kept till he was old.
Her mother said, Harriet, will you shut that bloomin’ door?
There’s icicles a-forming all over my floor,
But Harriet shook her head, said, it don’t worry me,
And buttered up a doughnut to have for her tea.
That night she dreamed Granny said I’ll no longer assume,
And she broke all the windows in Harriet’s own room,
Then she removed the ceiling and turned off the heat,
And left her to sleep with the snow and the sleet.
Now steady on, Granny, our Harriet did say,
You don’t need to do all that stuff right away,
But the roof it was gone and the windows went next,
And in desperation our girl sent a text,
I’m sorry dear Granny, I won’t do it no more,
Give back my old roof and I will shut the door,
But her Gran texted back, oh no, not a chance,
For years you have led me a merry old dance,
My health you have ruined, since I came here, to Penge,
And now it is time for the oldie’s revenge,
So sit there and suffer and shiver and shake,
While I sit back and watch with my warm Eccles Cake.
And then it was morning and Harriet was awake,
Her roof it was back, there was no sign of the cake,
And she ran down the stairs and found her dear mother,
Who was making a goulash for her grandma and brother,
Oh Mum, I’m so sorry, it won’t happen no more,
I’ll be your best daughter and I will shut the door.